Forgiveness
by Katie Monster
Summary: Politics and murder collide on Capitol Hill. Emily Prentiss must deal with the father she never knew, and the sister she never really wanted. H/P casefic. OFF HIATUS, SET MID-SEASON 5.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! I'm Katie, I don't actually know what the hell I'm doing. I've never written for Criminal Minds before, but I have a new obsession so hey! I might as well try. The problem is that I'm not American and have never written a casefic, so I'm trying to balance characterization with the actual meat and potatoes of the show, being the procedural drama bit. This is apparently what the writers have to do every week, therefore, new found respect! Anyway, will try my bestest. Please review and tell me what you think, worth continuing?

Disclaimer: I own nothing... for now.

* * *

"**Forgiveness is the remission of sins. For it is by this that what has been lost, and was found, is saved from being lost again." Saint Augustine. **

A common held belief is that the eyes are a window into the soul, the very essence of our human selves. Whether one is inclined to believe in their "soul" or not, that extinguishing of light in one's pupils at the moment of their last breath – well, perhaps that is the most convincing argument for the spirit each of us supposedly possesses.

She loved when the whores' eyes went blank.

She loved it so much, that when she knelt on their chests and squeezed her hands around their necks ever so tightly, she forced them to look into her eyes. She grinned a feral grin that lasted long after that light went out, and she rose again. "Happy" simply didn't cover the elation she felt while looking down at the dead whore on the cement.

She was, by all standards, a beautiful whore. Flaming red hair, only slightly muted by the dim lighting and dust on the ground. Porcelain skin still wet with tears, sky blue eyes staring out into the nothingness, and blood red lipstick that had smudged in the struggle. The gruesome effect was wonderful.

She knelt next to the Prostitute, gently stroking a cold, lifeless hand. A smug smile played on the face of the mousy woman. "He'll never love you now," she whispered, "he doesn't love broken things." A glance down to the body of the figure turned the grin into a full-fledged smile of contempt.

"You can wear all the little black dresses and Gucci heels you want, you can get those implants..." Soft laugher rang out, a tinny, wretched sound. "But he'll never love you again."

An hour past, with two women in the cold room. One laying on the ground, as stiffness seeped into her body, the other rocking back and forth to a rhythm no one else could hear. One woman rose, the one who still could. It was time to get rid of the whore's body, and she knew exactly where to put it. Where _he_ would see it.

Laughter rang out again.

* * *

Giggles sounded from the two women in the office, and, well, Reid. Once again, Derek Morgan was regaling the small crowd with stories from his on-going series, Dates From Hell. The most recent one of which occurred last night.

"No way, she didn't!" Erupted Emily Prentiss, practically shaking with laughter. She chanced a small glance over where Spencer Reid was perched on his desk, laughing, Penelope Garcia having stolen his chair.

"Oh yes she did," continued Morgan with a wince. "So then she took the golf club and--" His eyes flickered over to the glass BAU doors, a certain blond liaison having just walked in and interrupted his epic.

"Sorry guys," Jennifer Jareau started with a soft small, "but we have a new case." She looked down and grimaced, eyes glued to a large, white blotch on her shirt. "Henry." She said, by way of explanation. "Will's staying with him today, but he was fussy this morning … or rather, last night. Baby powder is such a bitch to get off." Reid quickly hurried over with some antibacterial wipes, a staple of his desk. ("There's very little evidence to show that less germs actually means less disease in our environment, but still.")

"A case, JJ?" Morgan asked, trying to steer the team back to the subject at hand. His leadership, however temporary and fraught with questions, was still a development he took seriously.

"I have the files right here, I'll brief you all as soon as Rossi and Hotch get here --"

"Present and accounted for." Came the measured words of David Rossi, stepping through the glass doors with Aaron Hotchner, having given the other man a lift to work that morning.

"First stop, coffee. Next, conference room. Fan out people!" Garcia cried, lurching up from the chair and heading the kitchenette. The team, still exhausted, followed with various groans and grunts. The first caffeine kick of the day was definitely welcome.

* * *

"Gracie Howard. Mackenzie Moretz. Danielle Fisher." JJ said each name as pictures flickered across the wall, each contained a beautiful woman, dressed to the nines and indubitably dead. "Ages 21, 22 and 25, respectively. All were found strangled and dumped in relatively populated areas, always near establishments frequented primarily by upper-class lawyers and politicians. All in the Capitol Hill area."

The team collectively winced, politics and murder were a crappy combination, even if the team got to stay in the Washington area. Trying to conduct an investigation amongst the rich and powerful was akin to pulling the teeth of a nasty dog.

"You said the victims were all dumped at these sites, the police have no leads as to where the kill spot actually is?" Morgan asked.

"None. The women were all found with significant head wounds, police are thinking they are knocked out, abducted, killed in a separate location, then dumped in specific spots. Each victim was also found with notes on their person." JJ switched the picture again, this time to a scrap of seemingly expensive stationary with gilded edges and a golden design at each corner. The word "whores" was carefully printed in swirling cursive. Eyebrows around the room were raised.

"The killer is creating an interesting contrast with the opulence of the paper, as opposed to vulgar terminology." Reid said, brow furrowed. "Though what's most notable is that the writing seems mostly .. feminine."

"A woman killing beautiful women. Jealousy?" Rossi theorized, mostly to himself.

"No." Said Emily, with surprising conviction. "Something is off here, what did you say their occupations were, JJ?"

"Howard and Moretz were both grad students, Fisher was interning at a law firm."

"Did any of them come from money?"

JJ quirked an eyebrow and checked her files, "No, parents are all middle class workers."

Emily nodded, "These women didn't have access to much disposable income, yet that dress is from Dolce and Gabbana's fall/winter collection, and those heels … definitely Gucci." A silence fell in the room, causing Emily to throw up her hands in defeat.

"Oh, so now it's a crime to _shop?_"

"No no, honeybunches, it's a crime to flaunt your designer wardrobe in front of us normal people. What I wouldn't give for five minutes inside your conformist closet..." Garcia let out a positively evil laugh.

"You go, baby girl!" Morgan grinned.

David Rossi hid his Rolex.

Hotch, taking pity on Emily, interceded. "Emily makes a good point. These women are well groomed and clothed, they must be getting money from somewhere. Could prostitution be a factor?"

"That changes our unsub's motive," said Morgan, quickly putting on a serious face. "If it's a woman, she could be the wife or girlfriend of someone employing these call girls. If they are actually in the business."

"The word 'whores' _could_ actually be used literally in the note!" Added Reid, excited.

Morgan nodded, "Baby girl, I want you to dig deeper into these women's bank accounts, occupation records, find out if they were working in the sex industry and for whom. We need any common clients they had in the past." Garcia nodded, running off to greet her mechanical children. "As for us, I guess we're all off to DC."

* * *

It was a miserable day in Washington DC. The snow had lost it's allure with the passing of Christmas, what had seemed like a beautiful white blanket over the city soon turned dirty and slushy. Rainfall in the morning, followed by below-zero temperatures had turned roads and sidewalks into virtual skating rinks. Yet here they were, two BAU agents ready to profile the latest crime scene, the brutal murder of Danielle Fisher.

"This is not going to be pretty." Emily mumbled bitterly, carefully opening the door of the SUV and stepping onto the pavement.

"Never learned to skate, Prentiss?" Came the humorous, but guarded, voice of Hotch. Her only response was a pointed glare and a private smile. She liked when he joked, especially with the burden of his dead wife and beloved son on his shoulders. Speaking of Jack...

"Jack's with Jessica this week?" She asked, carefully joining him on the sidewalk and taking special care as they walked towards the yellow-taped area.

He nodded, just as her feet slipped out from underneath her and she braced herself for impact with the icy ground. Surprisingly, none came. She opened her eyes to instead find herself being held with Aaron Hotchner's one arm, she could feel him laughing silently.

"Shut up, Hotch." Emily grumbled, righting herself quickly. She actually didn't mind too much, she loved his laugh, and if she was being honest with herself, she loved the feeling of his arms as well. Enough, she thought, lustful thoughts about the widower are not allowed!

The trip to the crime scene was uneventful after that, as was their introduction to the lead detective on the case. Blake Campbell seemed like a pleasant man, grateful for the help and offering the full co-operation of the police force. Soon Aaron and Emily were both alone with the body.

She was covered in the name of decency. A quick look under the white tarp revealed a death that was anything but decent. Danielle Fisher had been a beautiful woman, prostitute or not, now her limbs were fully frozen and tinged blue, her life was like a candle snuffed out in the cold winter air. She had been dumped like trash in the back alley of this restaurant.

Hotch caught Emily looking speculatively at the building. "You've been here?"

"Yeah, best margaritas in town. It's a fancy place, mostly frequented by lawyers and politicians, like JJ said. But why here of all places? The other victims were in similar locations, Gracie Howard and Mackenzie Moretz were both found near hotspots for the rich and powerful."

Hotch was silent for a second, "I think our unsub is trying to send someone a message."

"I agree, someone who fits the profile of the people who dine or drink here."

"Or someone specific, a lover or husband caught cheating with these girls? Or just another call-girl whom the unsub associates these women with."

The two agents caught each other's eyes and held the gaze, silent agreement passing through the look. Garcia needed to find a client name, and fast.

* * *

"Baby girl, tell me you have something."

"Oh, my hunk of dark chocolate lovin', when have I ever disappointed you? Don't answer that." Garcia added quickly, Morgan rolled his eyes. "You bucket full of genius' were right, all three girls get regular payments into their bank accounts by the One Nite Only escort service. Horrible name, I know. The CEO, president, whatever is Michael Nurse, I'd need his computer to get at client lists, or you could just _ask._"

Morgan had already been writing the name down and gesturing at Rossi from across the room. JJ and Reid were both out interviewing the families of the victims. "I intend to do just that, Princess. You got an address for me?"

"578 Bourgie Road."

"I owe you an arm and a leg, Garcia." Morgan said, hanging up the phone.

From the dark insides of her bat cave, Garcia smiled to herself and bit the top of her pink pen impishly. "Oh Morgan, you owe me so much more..."

* * *

The house was new, rather large, and above all, terribly terribly gaudy.

"Jesus Christ," Said Rossi, exiting the vehicle and looking at Morgan. "Just looking at this place offends my sensibilities."

"You're Italian, aren't you supposed to like this sort of stuff?"

A rude gesture later and Morgan was cackling while sternly knocking on the front door of the house.

"Michael Nurse, this is the FBI. Open the door!"

A few seconds passed with no response, then the door cracked open to reveal a weary and silent man. Michael Nurse, while trying to hide behind an Armani suit, gelled hair and designer shoes with lifts, still looked out of place in the opulent neighborhood. A slum pimp thrown to a pack of prestigious dogs. Rossi and Morgan quickly flipped open their badges to reveal the telling gold crest.

"Hey there Mr. Nurse," said Rossi with a toothy grin. "Mind if we come in?"

The man gulped audibly.

A few minutes later found all three men sitting around the dining room, inside the house was just as showy as the exterior. Hardwood floors, vintage furniture, a huge table with silver utensils and gilded plates. Morgan placed each dead girl's picture on the table with a crisp click. Nurse was sweating profusely.

"You know these girls?"

"N-no, I have no --"

"Cut the shit, Nurse!" Rossi demanded, quickly falling into a good cop/bad cop routine. "We've been through their bank records, your little whorehouse prostitution ring frequently supplements their income."

"It's not prostitution!" The man was panicking, "These men pay for...pseudo-sexual fantasies, there's not actually intercourse..."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Mr. Nurse," Morgan interrupted, "we're with the FBI investigating a serial killer, not your little business. We know you employ the girls, what we need is the names of their clients, in particular any similar clients they might've shared."

"T-those are strictly confidential records. Some of my clients are very powerful men and --"

"These girls are _dead_, Mr. Nurse, and one of those men could be responsible!" Morgan continued.

"I can't..."

"Listen you deadbeat pimp," Rossi growled, his voice dangerously low. "You're going to give us the names we need, or we'll just get a warrant and our technical analyst can go through _all_ your records, and if some of those more "important" clients get leaked to the press, oh well. I'll be sure to tell the reporters who supplied the information."

Michael Nurse looked ready to pass out. Silence reigned for a few, uncomfortable moments.

"There's only one client that all three of those girls shared..." Michael gulped, looked up at Morgan with imploring eyes. "But he's a big one."

Rossi shifted, passive aggressive.

"His name is Richard Prentiss."

dum dum dummmmmm. Continue? Yes? No? Maybe so?


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, it's Katie again! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and encouraged me last chapter, the response was overwhelming. Because of that I was inspired to write out the second chapter, it's a bit shorter than the last one, but I wanted to end it somewhere exciting. Please tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone you've seen on the show!

* * *

The hotel room door was nondescript, as far as doors went. Room number hung in a tarnished gold, paint that had seen better days and a low-tech brass knob with keyhole. Looking upon the variety of door that Aaron Hotchner had encountered many times over, he had no idea why the butterflies in his stomach were being so persistent.

Secretly, he did. It was what waited on the other side of the door that was the problem.

With a sigh, Hotch looked down at the square box in his hands, it contained a medium pizza with Emily's favorite toppings (all dressed with no mushrooms) and after the news they'd received this afternoon, Emily would need this treat and more. Clenching his hands shut against sweaty palms, he raised a fist and knocked gently on the door.

Little did Aaron Hotchner know that while he had been carefully deliberating outside, Emily Prentiss was agonizing equally over the events of the day. She sat on the standard hotel comforter and gazed, unseeing, at the cable television. Instead of the antics of Two and a Half Men, her mind kept churning over the events of the afternoon and her subsequent conversation with Derek Morgan.

_She was in the precinct hallway, outside of the conference room they had just gathered in, eyes closed and fists clenched, trying to stave off the growing nausea she felt. That wasn't her only emotion; embarrassment, sadness and uncontrollable anger. Take your pick. _

_She had known her father was in Washington, he was a senator after all, but this had caught her completely off guard. She had hoped to completely avoid him during her trip here. Emily's cheeks reddened even more as she thought of the team's faces. She was thoroughly humiliated and pissed off, and she turned her anger to the first person who followed her out of the room. _

"_What the fuck, Morgan?" Angry, she got in his face as soon as her "boss" closed the door behind him. "You didn't think I would appreciate a bit of a heads up? It would be nice to know my father is the main suspect in our murder investigation before you told the whole team!"_

"_Emily," he started, trying to placate her as best he could. "The team had to be told eventually and no one in that room judges you. You are in no way responsible for your father's actions."_

"_Bullshit." She learned back against the wall, banging her head slightly. After a few moments, she sighed and looked up to meet Morgan's eyes. "Okay, what do we do from here?"_

"_I'm sorry Emily, but there is no 'we'. You're on the first plane back to Quantico."_

_There was complete silence in the hallway as the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees._

"_You can't be serious." Looking into the eyes of her good friend, Emily saw none of the happy-go-lucky Morgan she knew and loved. He was hardened, determined in his new role as team leader. Emily feared that he would go too far. This was too far._

"_Emily, come on. You can't be part of an investigation where the main suspect is your father! It's a blatant conflict of interest. If Strauss knew... you know she'd take the opportunity to knock you down, hurt your career."_

"_Like I care! My father may have something to do with this, but he might not! Besides, I haven't spoken to my father in years, we're virtually strangers."_

"_It doesn't make a difference. Look, I'm sorry, but you're off the case as of now."_

_Morgan turned to reenter the conference room and Emily felt her tenuous grip on self-control slip. She needed to see this case through, family honor and consequences be damned._

"_You're forgetting something, Morgan." _

_He paused and turned, fingers hovering inches from the door knob. He looked at her dubiously._

"_My father is a Washington senator, he has power, connections and influence that even I don't know the scope of. If we have any chance of interrogating, or even talking to him, it's going to be through me."_

_The silence in the hallway persisted. Emily could see that her words had hit home, the conflict in Morgan's eyes was visible. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, there was truth behind her words. Without a sound, Morgan's fingers grasped the door knob and pulled it open, he remained that way, waiting for Emily to walk in before him._

_It had begun._

Now, from the comfort of her hotel room, Emily had begun to doubt her actions. She was nearly blackmailing her good friend, the leader of their team, and diving headfirst into a world she wanted to forget.

Did she really want in on this case? Her father and the prostitutes she could handle, even though it made her stomach turn to think the senator was sleeping with girls younger than his own daughter. But murder? To think of her father brutally killing women, how could Emily wrap her head around that?

Her somber thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knocking. Reluctantly, she left the comfort of her bed to gaze out the peephole and was surprised to see Aaron Hotchner on the other side of the door.

"Hi." She blurted out, opening the door and being assaulted by the smell of warm pizza. "Yum."

Hotch looked sheepish, maybe even a little embarrassed. "I thought you might be hungry, do you want to talk?"

Emily opened the door completely and let him in, closing and locking it afterwards. They set up on the small coffee table in the room, happily digging into warm dough and tomato sauce. Silence reigned for a few minutes, noise from the television filling the gap.

"My father and I were never close." She finally began, wiping her red fingers in a napkin. Her voice seemed raspy, uneven. "People thought we looked alike, that I shared my father's ambition and drive, but I guess you could say that about either of my parents. He was a very successful author while my mother was traveling around in her Ambassador duties, taking us to all corners of the world. He always seemed more focused on his books than his family, and my mother and him never got along." She let out a short laugh.

"Understatement?" Asked Hotch.

"Oh yeah. Anyway, they divorced when I was fourteen. My mother got main custody and he got visitation rights. Of course, when you're traveling around the world it's hard to visit. We eventually stopped speaking and lost contact when I was eighteen. I know he got into politics after the divorce, now he's a senator, obviously. He also remarried and had another kid, but I think that ended in divorce as well."

Hotch didn't speak for a while, the situation with Hailey playing out in his mind. Could him and Jack have turned out so badly, had things been different?

"Do you think you can do this? Investigate your own father?" He didn't mean it to sound so blunt and unfeeling. But he needed to know, the team needed to rely on her.

"I don't know." Emily bit on a cuticle thoughtfully. "I got an invitation to the second wedding, which I ignored, and the Christening. Also ignored. I haven't even received a Christmas card in years. So I'd like to say that I'm unbiased, but seeing him again … that might bring back memories."

"If you want to talk, I'm here."

Her first genuine smile of the night. "Thanks."

* * *

The next morning was just as icy and gloomy as the last, the sun seemed trapped behind thick clouds of gray. Emily's mood reflected the horrible weather, which did nothing to lighten the tension in the SUV.

She was in the passenger's seat, Morgan was driving. Last night it had been too late to visit the senator, so it was only today that they were venturing out into the wealthy neighborhood. Morgan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mood was also sour.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Strauss may actually kill me."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Empty promises didn't help either and they completed the drive in silence. A few minutes later, what seemed like an eternity, they pulled up in front of a historical row house on Capitol Hill. It screamed of old money and prestige.

It was red brick and the small yard was perfectly manicured. What it lacked in width was certainly made up for in height, with an impressive three stories. Windows were framed by white lace and the top-most level had a balcony overlooking the street. The two agents walked through the white fence and up to the landing, a big oak door stood there, 'Prentiss' embossed in gold cursive writing.

"Jesus Christ." Morgan mumbled, taking the door knocker and rapping it twice. Emily only nodded.

Moments later a small woman opened the door, she looked mid-fifties and Emily recognized her right away. "Can I help you?"

"Yes Ma'am, we're with the FBI and would like to speak with Senator Prentiss." Morgan replied, flashing his badge.

"I'm sorry," she responded, going to close the door. "Senator Prentiss isn't in at the moment, perhaps you could make an appointment --"

"Mary, wait!" Emily spoke up, pulling off her sunglasses. The housekeeper's gaze fell onto Emily and recognition instantly flared in her eyes.

"Good God, Emily! I didn't realize it was you!" The plump old woman quickly brightened up and opened the door, moving aside. "Come in before you catch your death."

Morgan and Emily shared a look as they moved inside. 'Fine,' his eyes seemed to say, 'you may have had a point. But I'm still pissed.'

Her eyes said, 'I was right and you were wrong, I'm gonna sing the I-was-right song...'

"Now now, does your father know you're here?" The woman who was apparently Mary asked, bustling around, "it's been so long since you've seen each other..."

"Unfortunately I'm here on business, Mary." Replied Emily with a humorless smile. "We need to catch up later, but now I need to talk to my father."

"Right this way, then. He's in his study."

They moved up one story and down a hallway, Morgan observed his surroundings. Everything seemed to be wood floors and rich colors, restored vintage furniture that gave the place it's own atmosphere of sophistication. Many portraits lined the walls, but he couldn't help but notice that not a single family picture appeared. Dead ancestors were apparently more important to Senator Prentiss than his living relations. They finally stopped in front of another wooden door, one that Mary knocked on.

"Come in." Sounded from the other side, a deep and rough voice.

Emily nodded at Mary and looked at Morgan, he could tell she was steeling herself for this encounter. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door wide open and stepped inside, Morgan right at her back.

Uncomfortable silence as the senator and his daughter stared each other down. Morgan took the opportunity to carefully study the man who had spawned the strong woman in front of him. The resemblance was there, but not overwhelming. Even at the age of sixty-two, the senator possessed a strong jaw and the excellent cheekbones that Emily had inherited. He still had a whole head of hair, though the dark brown had faded into gray. Even sitting down, the senator seemed like an imposing man with broad shoulders and the height to back it up. Topping it all off were two beady, blue and calculating eyes. Emily definitely hadn't gotten her warm and compassionate gaze from her father.

"Emily," Richard Prentiss said slowly and with a small smile, standing from behind his huge mahogany desk. "I can't say I'm surprised, I've been expecting you."

The two agents shared a look of surprise. Is he going to confess? Thought Morgan, could it really be that easy?

"What are you talking about?" Inquired Emily. With any other suspect her hand would've been inching towards her gun, but she couldn't even think of … God this was a mistake, Morgan was right, this was a huge conflict of interest.

Senator Prentiss was now bending down to rummage through his desk drawers, something that put both agents on edge, but how to react? Finally, Richard straightened up with a thin manila envelope in one hand.

He held it out to his eldest daughter, "This should explain things a bit better. A picture is worth a thousand words, after all."

Cautiously, Emily tried to put aside her doubts and reached for the envelope, carefully undoing the red string and opening it up. What spilled out made her blood run cold, there were pictures. Pictures of the victims; some taken while they were dead, some while they were bound, gagged and crying. Amidst the pictures were familiar pieces of stationary, gilded edges and a golden design at each corner. They all said the same thing:

"_Why, Richard?"_

_

* * *

_

Que pensez-vous? I'd like to know what you think very much! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all! Now this was a challenging chapter to write, it's definitely a bit late since I've been battling writer's block, and trying to sort out the direction in which this story is going. As a result, I'm not sure I'm happy with it... but you be the judge! I love reviews, they're like cookies to me. Nomnomnom.

Disclaimer: Whatever you recognize, I don't own.

* * *

If there was one thing Emily had learned by being a Prentiss, it was the stony gaze and neutral expression combo that could completely unnerve even the strongest of men. It was this skill she used now, while looking at the pictures of various hookers her father had slept with and possibly murdered. The man in question was employing the look as well, sitting comfortably in his reading recliner, eyes fixed on his daughter.

Terse seconds ticked by in complete silence, before Emily could handle the man's gaze no more. "Dad!" She finally snapped, looking over to the figure in the corner and wincing at her use of the "title", Dads weren't supposed to sleep with prostitutes and get them murdered. Dads were supposed to stay with their wives and daughters and be actual _role models_.

"Dad." She continued, getting a handle on her temper and her volume. "_There are women being assaulted and murdered in these pictures_. Why didn't you call the police sooner?"

The man stood up straight, taking advantage of his imposing stature. Nevertheless, Emily noted the shadows under his eyes and other signs of weariness and stress.

"I don't need to explain the political game to you, Emily. You've been through it enough times with your mother. But suffice it to say that these pictures and notes coming out could end my career..."

"Whatever you did to piss someone off ended these girls' lives!"

Father and daughter froze in a stand-off, staring each other down.

Finally, Richard inhaled deeply and ran his fingers through the grey stubble on his face. For a second, Emily could see the impact this case had had on him. "I know that. But I couldn't trust the police to give this the necessary amount of attention and discretion. I'm confident your team in the FBI will do just that."

Emily realized the reality of the situation with a shock, "We didn't stumble upon this case by accident, did we?"

"No... I pulled some strings within the Bureau. I want to get this solved, and quickly." He paused, some affection leaking into his voice. "Your team is the best, Em."

"Yeah well, right now you're our number one suspect. I'm not going to protect you here."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

"And have I reiterated my hatred for Erin Strauss recently?"

Before anything else could be said, Morgan reentered the study with a phone in his hand. On the other end of the line was the team, all assembled at the precinct after Derek had informed them about new developments. Hotch, Rossi, JJ and Reid were all listening intently, ready to search anything that could help them with the case. Since they couldn't exactly take the Senator into custody, the interrogation would happen in this room.

"Senator Prentiss," Morgan began quickly, since introductions had already been made. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get right down to business. The killer is going to strike again soon and needs to be stopped, so the most obvious question is this; do you have any idea who could be behind these attacks?"

Richard sunk back down into the chair he had recently vacated, and once again both agents could see how fatigued he was. "Honestly, ever since I started receiving the pictures I've been asking myself that same question."

"When did you get the pictures? And how?"

"I got one two days ago, and the other two last week on Tuesday and Friday." Emily and Morgan shared a look, the dates coincided perfectly with the body drops and murders.

"The first one was dropped off here, in the mailbox, but after I installed cameras near the front and upped security they started showing up in other places. Taped to my car in front of a coffee shop, my office... it's a complete nightmare." He held up a hand to quell Emily's protests, "Before you yell at me, I hired someone to thoroughly fingerprint and test the pictures, notes, envelopes, mailbox, my car... everything I thought could possibly help. It hasn't...so far this sick-o hasn't left any evidence."

Morgan nodded, "By the notes attached to the pictures, it seems like the unsub definitely knows you personally... they feel betrayed by the fact you're having "relations" with these women."

"I know you're thinking of ex-lovers, but I honestly haven't had a long-term relationship or girlfriend since I divorced my second wife three years ago. These women," Richard's hand flicked over to the pictures on his desk. He obviously couldn't bare to say the word "prostitute" or even "whore". "They all came after Olivia and I separated. Three nights, one night each, that's all."

"Are there any others you employed?"

"No, only the three girls. To be honest it's very distressing that someone could track them down, and notice their connection to me. The whole situation was very discrete."

"I'm sure it was..." Emily mumbled, trying to force down the bile in her throat. Her father and prostitutes, it was sickening. Trying to stay silent while Morgan was attempting to tactfully feel out the situation, knowing the whole team was listening, it was nearly unbearable.

"Well it's very likely that the unsub will escalate and seek out women connected to you in any way, not just romantically. We're going to need a list of women you've been close with in the past few years."

"It definitely won't be very long at all... I'm afraid most of my close friends are men. There are, of course, women I work with, but I definitely don't see them outside the office. I suppose there's Mary, my maid and friend, my ex-wife..." His gaze flicked over to Emily, and he apparently realized the uncomfortable situation he had put her in. "My most recent one, Olivia. I'm afraid Ambassador Prentiss and I haven't even spoken in many years, and unfortunately the same can be said about Emily and I."

Well, this is awkward, thought Emily. Having your dysfunctional family involved in a murder investigation sure sucks.

"Wait!" She burst out, "What about your daughter?"

Richard and Morgan both looked perplexed. They peered at Emily, concerned and confused.

"Not me." She sighed, "you had another daughter, didn't you?"

Richard bolted up from his seat, urgency etched into his every feature. "Amelia! Of course!"

"Where is she, Sir?" Morgan asked quickly, trying to regain control of the situation.

"I-I'm not sure. I was working late last night, I didn't see her yesterday nor this morning."

Emily and Morgan shared a look, the unit chef said a terse word into his open phone and hung up. The team was getting ready to mobilize if needed.

"She's probably still sleeping." Richard quickly amended, simultaneously ashamed of himself and annoyed with the daughter he had temporarily forgotten.

"Where's her room?"

"Both our bedrooms take up the third floor..."

Before he could finish, Prentiss and Morgan had both abruptly left the room and started up the stairs they had previously used. Taking the stairs two at a time, the atmosphere turned more and more tense as the agents approached the third floor. Coming up onto the landing, they were greeted with another sterile hallway with two doors. Over one a small sign hung, "Amelia's Room" painted on a wooden plaque. With a few quick strides, Morgan had crossed over to it and flung open the door, Emily close behind.

There was nothing. Well, the room was perfectly in tact and tidy, just waiting to be studied and profiled. Amelia Prentiss, however, was no where to be found.

"The bed hasn't been slept in." Noted Morgan, taking a cursory glance around the room before heading to the door. "We need to find out whether this girl's missing or just out without telling Daddy, I'll call the team..."

"Wait, Morgan!" Said Emily, sharply, head cocked to one side. "Do you hear that?"

He paused and listened, a second later he heard a shuffling sound. The bedroom had two adjoining rooms, and both agents moved towards one door at the same time, drawing their firearms. This time Prentiss entered first, swinging open the door to reveal a very luxurious bathroom.

Immediately, Emily and Derek winced at the smell.

"Well that's some tequila if I ever smelt it." Morgan semi-chuckled, looking down into the bathtub, where a girl's form lay prone, asleep, but definitely alive. "And this must be Amelia Prentiss, your long-lost sister."

"Oh God, do not start."

"I should probably go downstairs to call the team and talk to Senator Prentiss, get some names and assure him his daughter is alright. I take it you'll be fine here, Agent Prentiss?" Morgan laughed and exited the bathroom.

"I get it, this is revenge! You suck, Morgan!" Emily retorted. The figure in the bathtub moaned and shifted, and once alone, Emily looked down at her half-sister. Same dark brown hair, pale skin and a very slight build. Emily frowned, Prentiss' were normally slim but this girl looked downright tiny. Must've been the mother's side. Trashy clothes (who wore short shorts in winter?) and an alcoholic coma both reeked of teen-aged rebellion. Emily couldn't help but think of her own goth phase and smoking habit at that age, she winced. Now those were bad times.

Well, only one thing to do. She reached out and found the shower dial, turning it just slightly to unleash a torrent of freezing cold water.

"Fuck!" The girl yelled, rousing slightly but still half asleep. Immediately she curled up in the fetal position and let the streams of water nurse her pounding headache for a moment. "Mary, what have I told you about waking me before noon?" She mumbled against her arm, and with great effort grabbed the side of the tub and hoisted herself over, landing in a sodden heap on the floor.

Emily stood there, arms folded across her chest in the classic defensive pose. "Unfortunately, I'm not your maid. I am someone who could get you in a load of trouble for underaged drinking though."

From the floor, blue eyes look up and lock with normally warm brown ones. Emily sees her panic.

"Who the fuck are you?" The girl said, quickly on her feet and looking very much like a wet and disgruntled cat.

"FBI. SSA Emily..."

"SSA? Are you a Super Special Agent?"

"Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I'm your sister."

Silence reigned in the bathroom for a few heartbeats, as Emily reflected upon how ridiculous this situation really was. Amelia, on the other hand, only put a hand to her head, trying to quell a massive headache.

"Whoa, I really need to sleep this off." She promptly stumbled past Emily, into the main bedroom and collapsed in a heap on the bed. Fully dressed and wet, she snuggled into the pillows and fell into a dead sleep.

Emily stood frozen for a few seconds before shaking her head and shutting off the shower. They may look alike, but Emily and Amelia Prentiss were currently a couple universes apart.

* * *

Outside of the house, a sleek blue car idled some ways down the road. From the relative safety of her vehicle, she glared at the house holding the object of her desires, and the black SUV parked outside it.

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel even tighter, manicured nails digging into the leather.

They've been in there too long! She thought. Those stupid agents, trying to ruin everything! Especially the dark haired bitch, oh, she knew who that was. His bastard daughter, he hadn't meant to get that whore of a mother pregnant, she was sure. It was probably just an accident.

I'll erase that accident, she glowered, an evil thought coming to mind. I'll erase both of his accidents. Then, when he finally realizes that we're meant to be, there won't be any distractions.

She would fix his mistakes.


	4. Chapter 4

Wow, it has been a really long time. What can I say? I got caught up in school and work, and then the ANNOUNCEMENT OF DEATH came that Emily and JJ would be cut from the team! I was so mad I stopped watching CM for season 6, but now that the team is back in tact, I'm ready to finish this story! For continuity's sake, it'll still be set mid-season 5, when Morgan took over the team from Hotch. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"So basically, we have nothing."

That was Rossi's depressing analysis of the situation. The team was sitting around a table in the precinct, going over evidence and eating Chinese take out. Morgan and Emily had left Senator Prentiss' house some hours earlier, carrying a list of women's names who could be considered either possible victims or suspects.

"According to the Senator he hasn't had any romantic encounters aside from these three women since he and his wife, Olivia Wolfe, divorced three years ago. Garcia looked into her and apparently Ms. Wolfe moved to Montreal to further a career in fashion nearly a year ago." Said Hotch, summing up their investigation so far.

"Ms. Wolfe hasn't left Montreal in the past month and I believe she's too far from the unsub's comfort area to be considered in danger."

Murmers and nodds around the table agreed with Hotch's analysis. The bitter ex-wife was out of the picture.

Morgan took up the dialogue next, "What we mostly got were names of women Senator Prentiss comes in contact with at the office. Initial background checks come up clear, as do our interviews done today, these women are still possibilities but so far seem unlikely. Finally, we have the housekeeper, Mary..."

Emily piped up from where she was seated, next to Hotch. "Mary has been travelling around with my family and father since I was a kid, I really don't think a fifty-five year old woman has the strength and desire to murder and dump three young women."

"There's that, and she has an alibi. She was at the house, with witnesses, all the days the murders were committed." Morgan confirmed.

The obvious and safe players were now off the table, which left Emily and the team in a rather awkward situation that she strove to remedy quickly. She had assured Morgan she could work this case without any bias, but whether that was true or not was questionable. The fact that Strauss had basically green-lit this investigation gave her little comfort.

Clearing her throat, Emily spoke up. "My mother, besides having not spoken to my father in years, is currently on assignment in Turkey. She's been there for at least five months. As for me, well I have a whole bunch of witnesses that will testify my being in Virginia until a couple days ago." She motioned around the table, causing the other agents to grin.

The relief was short lived, because after everything the agents were left with a single suspect.

"So that leaves –" Morgan was interrupted by the arrival and Reid and JJ barging into the conference room, arms full of papers.

"So the Boy Genius has done it again." JJ announced with no small measure of amusement, taking in the excited look on Reid's face. Along with interviewing various female employees at Senator Prentiss' office, the agents had also recieved a huge batch of correspondence sent to the man. Dozens upon dozens of letters and e-mails were sent to the public figure each day. Richard Prentiss didn't read all of it, or necessarily any of it, but many letters were expressing displeasure and maybe even murderous hate. Reid had been charged with looking through the stacks to find anything helpful and legit, with JJ immediately offering a helping hand.

"It really wasn't very difficult." Began Reid, who was smiling nonetheless. "The main problem was simply the sheer volume of material, but I'd say these speak for themselves." Carefully, Reid lay out two letters on the table, enclosed in plastic bags. The swirling cursive handwriting was a deadringer for the notes they had already found.

"Dear Richard, I dream about you every night after I'm done watching. I've seen you with those girls and I know they're just mistakes. Distractions until we can finally be together. I know you felt the same way until I broke. But I'll fix myself, and I'll fix you...but you'll never be able to fix those pretty little whores. Forever yours, xoxox." Emily read the first letter in a neutral tone, but that didn't detract from the shiver that passed through the room. The next letter was similar, and had the same effect.

"So we're sure this is the real deal?" Asked Rossi.

Reid pushed a strand of hair behind one ear, typical when he was about to explain something.

"Sure seems like it, from the vocabulary and phrasing I'd say these are bonafide crazy stalker notes."

"Or not." Interjected Morgan, "before you two interrupted, I was about to say that only one logical person hadn't been ruled out – Amelia Prentiss." Silence greeted his theory. "It's very plausible," he defended, "rebellious teenage daughter finds out her dad has been sleeping with hookers after divorcing her mother. She creates a mysterious stalker to shoulder the blame..."

"Rebellious, angry kid is one thing, psychopathic killer? That's completely different." Rossi argued.

"Well how much do we know about her anyway? Where's her file?" Asked Hotch, immediately trying to diffuse some of the tension in the room. Sitting beside Emily, he could feel her tense up at the mention of her half-sister. She was currently biting her lip, trying not to rush to the defence of another family member. Knowing how loyal she was, Hotch knew it was killing her.

"Here," said JJ, plucking the file up from the mountain of those on the desk. She flipped it open and scanned the pages. "Amelia Marie Prentiss, born to Richard Prentiss and Olivia Wolfe December 4th, 1991. She's eighteen years old and went to Sidwell Friends School until the fifth grade when she was...taken out and enrolled into Saint Mary's School for Girls. That's in Washington as well, but it's a boarding school for troubled students. She stayed there until last year, when she dropped out in eleventh grade without finishing her high school education."

There was silence around the room as the news sank in, a senator's daughter not finished school screamed of a troubled relationship.

"We've got reasons to believe she's a kid with issues." Morgan said, flashing back to the scene in the bathtub earlier. "What we really need to do is go back and profile her, see if she's really capable of murder."

All eyes in the room flicked to Emily, assuming she'd like to delve in the world of her half-sister. However, she quickly put up her hands in surrender. "I really don't think I'm the best person for this, Amelia and I didn't get off to the best start, and if she hates her father she might hate other family even more. I vote for Reid."

The boy genius looked up in surprise, "What? Why me?"

"She's a teenager! They have _hormones_!" Emily wriggled her eyebrows at Spencer, lightening the mood in the room as everyone chuckled and Reid turned a deep shade of red.

"Pretty Boy it is." Said Morgan, "now we just need a way back into the Prentiss manor."

As if on cue, Emily's cellphone rang from her hip. With a glance at the caller ID and a furrowed brow, she answered the phone with the usual 'Prentiss'. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, but left Emily with a concerned look on her face.

"That was my father," she addressed the team. "He's insisting the whole team go over right away, but he wouldn't tell me what's wrong over the line."

"Ask and ye shall recieve." Rossi mumbled, quickly gathering up his things. The rest of the agents followed suit, and quickly deserted the precinct to head straight into the belly of the beast.

* * *

The air was practically crackling with tension when the agents were let into the immaculate household and lead down the hardwood hallways by Mary. It became apparent why once they rounded the corner and peered into the handsomely-furnished living room. Richard Prentiss was pacing like a mad man, hands behind his ramrod straight back and one Armani shoe stomping after the other.

"Senator," began Morgan, quickly assuming his leadership role, "What happened?"

"That!" Spat Richard, spittle flying from his lips, as he pointed at a set of glossy pictures spread across the coffee table. "It was left in the neighbour's mailbox and addressed to me. Ambassador Grant brought them over half an hour ago."

"So the unsub knows about your cameras and security." Reid murmured, as they crowded forward to get a glimpse of the pictures. Each agent expected the same M.O.: another girl bound and crying. Another body.

They were surprised, not pleasantly so, when several high-definition pictures of Emily were strewn across the table. Emily herself only narrowed her eyes, harshly exhaling as she felt Hotch move up behind her. There were other pictures too, she noticed. Aside from those of her and Morgan, entering and exiting the house, there were many more of Amelia. Shopping with friends, getting coffee, out last night partying...

"Does Ambassador Grant have any security measures, or cameras, near his mailbox?" Asked Rossi, always business and the first to recover from shock.

"No. I grilled him before he left." Answered the senator between gritted teeth.

"We should still talk to him again and confirm." Morgan continued Rossi's thought, "Also, canvas the neighbourhood and see if anyone has noticed suspicious cars or a woman loitering. We'll start within a block radius and gradually increase..."

"No!"

All the agents looked at Richard in confusion. He had completely stopped pacing at this point, and had apparently composed himself in a manner suitable of a senator. "Every single person on this block is a colleague or peer. No one can know what's going on, or else the scandal will hit my entire department. Need I mention you that the FBI has promised extreme discretion..."

"Sir, with all due respect, discretion could compromise the safety of your daughters." Morgan and Emily looked back at Hotch with surprise. He played the politic game better than most, and yet he was actively and openly opposing a senator. Nevertheless, Richard seemed fazed by his argument, looking once at Emily and then over to an ornate sofa in the corner. Amelia sat on the edge, cradling a cup of tea and seemingly unnoticed by everyone until then.

She looked significantly better than the hungover mess of this morning, but still pale and drawn. She fluttered a hand in dismissal, "I'll be fine, don't worry about it."

Richard paused, seemingly ready to trade the welfare of his daughters for an intact reputation. He backpedalled from the precipice just in time. "No, no, you're right. Do what you have to do, but I want a detail here looking after Amelia. And Emily... I'd feel better if you stayed here too."

"Dad, I really don't think..." Both sisters began, then looked at each other strangely and abruptly cut off.

"No." Said Morgan, decided and determined. "This could work. Hotch, Emily and Reid stay here and hold the fort until I can get a call into Quantico requesting a protection detail. JJ, you get the local PD on the line and ask for help canvassing, Rossi and I will start searching in the meantime."

There was but a moment of hesitation before the agents moved, leaving the living room in a state of confusion and disarray. The senator quickly excused himself, no doubt to make several calls in an attempt to curb the scandal. The three agents and the sister were left awkwardly, with Emily making eyes at Reid, clearly indicating that he was to pull the "Pretty Boy".

"Well, it's been fun, folks. But I'm gonna head upstairs." Amelia said, easing off the couch and sheepishly heading towards the door. She was halfway there before running into a wall of Prentiss.

Blue eyes met brown. "We're actually going to have to ask you a few questions." Emily said, slowly crossing her arms. Blue eyes narrowed.

"Go ahead, ask me about our dad's whores. I can assure you that I never met them, nor did I murder them. I try to avoid sloppy seconds." The last syllable was drawn out into a hiss. Things were escalating until Hotch grabbed Emily's elbow, gently removing her from the volatile situation. Amelia reeled back, bumping into Reid's front. She titled her head back and stared at the uncomfortable young genius.

"I could ask you some basic questions, if you'd prefer." He stammered.

"Well well," Amelia grinned, "You can interrogate me all you want."

* * *

That's that! Tell me what you think! I have chapter five about halfway written already. :)


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